


speak not of what you know

by dragonsong (NekoAisu)



Series: FFXIVWrite 2020 [11]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Demigod Magnai Oronir, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Mild Blood, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:15:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NekoAisu/pseuds/dragonsong
Summary: He has to take a moment to blink afterimages from his eyes before he can really see. Even dimmed, the ash and dying flames around him cast a shroud around their form. The Sun steps forward, striding toward him, and bares their teeth. “I am Magnai, Child of Azim and Blessed of Nhaama. You will kneel before my radiance.”
Relationships: Sidurgu Orl/Magnai Oronir
Series: FFXIVWrite 2020 [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1906210
Comments: 4
Kudos: 12





	speak not of what you know

**Author's Note:**

> FFXIVWrite Prompt 11: Ultracrepidarian

“Are you done praying? What use will that serve, preaching to a congregation of corpses?”

Sidurgu sighs, pulling his sword from the body of his last remaining foe. He does not turn to look at the speaker, knowing who it would be. “Aye, but I do not preach, Sun.”

“You speak not of what you know,” the Sun replies, light bleeding off of their form and setting the field aflame. “Any man who claims prayer is a preacher. I have seen them from the heavens, those men in iron and the ones who hold Halone as a shield. You are no different.”

“Then enlighten me,” he says, fatigue replacing his vitriol, “and tell me what you’ve seen. Do you know how it feels to bury those you love? To feel bones break beneath your palms? You have never walked the path that I have.”

The Sun smiles and Sidurgu feels it more than sees it, light flaring to match the sudden heat. They sound nearly  _ smug  _ when they say, “That is where you are wrong. The Sun has always shone His light upon the world, yes, but you are yet untried by the gods. You will never find ascension as I have.”

“You… were mortal?”

It isn’t the wildest tale he has been told, nor the most unbelievable truth to fall from someone’s lips, but it still beggars belief. He flicks blood and viscera from his gloves, feeling the leather and fabric underneath stick to his skin. He feels disgusting—vindicated, hollowed out, euphoric—and wants to sleep right there where he stands. 

The Sun laughs, the sound like the singing of stars, carrying for malms and malms. “You may know of my past, for I was once Xaela like you—not that the Oronir are born outside the Sun’s grace, mind.”

“Aren’t the Oronir—“

“Ancient? Yes,” they reply, light dimming until Sidurgu can chance a glance toward them, “and I was their Khan. You may lay witness to my glory.”

He has to take a moment to blink afterimages from his eyes before he can really  _ see.  _ Even dimmed, the ash and dying flames around him cast a shroud around their form. The Sun steps forward, striding toward him, and bares their teeth. “I am Magnai, Child of Azim and Blessed of Nhaama. You will kneel before my radiance.”

“You look… young,” he manages, still processing that what he thought was a sentient ball of light and ego is, in fact, someone who used to walk the same world as he. 

Magnai, he had said his name was. The Oronir’s storied Khan, the one whose name has been preserved for generations, the true son of Azim. He looks decidedly reasonable without the fire and light and  _ blinding _ draped about him like a heavenly shroud. 

He looks annoyingly attractive and Sidurgu has no time for uppity demigods, saints, and souls who are so self-absorbed. 

Magnai’s smile (if it could be called that, with so many teeth exposed) softens, becoming wry. “What use is a Sun without a shining countenance? Whether or not I died younger than many of my kin holds no sway upon immortal forms.”

“Tell me of it, your ascension.”

“What can you offer the Sun in return?”

Sidurgu sighs, grimacing. He had expected it, but had hoped that maybe (just maybe) Magnai would be too distracted with singing his own praises to ask for a story of his own. “I can tell you of my childhood, for what that would be worth. The Orl live on within me.”

“So be it. The Sun will listen to your tale. I trust you will not be lying to me of things you do not know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Scream with me on twt please i care them
> 
> Twitter [@khirimochi](https://twitter.com/khirimochi) OR [@TheHolyBody (NSFW)](https://twitter.com/TheHolyBody)  
> Tunglr @[Main](https://kiriami.tumblr.com) OR @[FFXIV Imagines](https://ffxivimagines.tumblr.com)


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